


Here When You Need Me

by pooh_collector



Series: Through the Years [2]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Sick Neal Caffrey, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-23
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-08 17:33:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13463130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pooh_collector/pseuds/pooh_collector
Summary: A timestamp to Through the Years We All Will Be Together, If the Fates Allow.  Oy, now it’s a verse.  Neal’s a no-show for his classes at NYU and Peter is on a quest to find out why.  This is a late birthday gift forkanarek13.  Happy Birthday my friend!





	Here When You Need Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kanarek13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kanarek13/gifts).



> The book Peter reads to Neal is titled The Yellow House: Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Nine Turbulent Weeks in Arles, by Martin Gayford.

When Peter rang the bell at June's front door he wasn't concerned with who would answer or what they might think of his visit. He hadn't been back to Riverside Drive since the horrible day he had learned Neal was blind. But thanks to a push from his wife, and Mozzie of all people, Neal was a fixture in his life again for the right reasons, and he didn't need to worry about the reception he might receive at June's door, which worked out well since all his worry was already solely focused on Neal.

When the maid answered the door, Peter stepped right into the foyer. "Is Neal at home?"

She nodded, clearly taken aback by his lack of decorum, but before she could say anything, Peter rushed to thank her and then headed up the stairs taking them two at a time.

He stopped and took a breath before knocking on Neal's door. He didn't want to barge into the apartment like he had in December and give Neal the wrong impression about why he was there in the middle of the day on a Tuesday. If it was a normal day he would be downtown at the FBI building, not on Riverside Drive checking up on his boyfriend. But normal didn’t apply to Neal the same way it used to and despite how at ease he seemed to be with his blindness, there were hurdles and obstacles everywhere for him now.

After gathering himself, Peter knocked and waited fruitlessly for Neal's response for a good thirty seconds before opening the door despite the lack of an invitation. "Neal?"

There were no lights on in the apartment. It was a typical grey winter day in February, so there was scant illumination coming in through the French doors and windows. Peter flipped on the lights over the dining table and then scanned over the apartment finally spying a Neal-shaped lump in the bed. "Neal?"

The lump coughed softly and then replied, "Here."

Peter pulled off his overcoat and dumped it on the sofa on his way over to the bed. Neal was lying on his side facing Peter, scrunched into a ball, his comforter pulled up just under his chin.

Peter sat next to him and placed his hand on Neal's knee. "El called. She said you weren't in class this morning. I tried calling and sent a couple of texts, but you didn't respond, so I decided to swing by and check in."

"Sorry. I have no idea where my phone is. I know I had it this morning. I texted my TA to cover my classes, but I don't know where I put it on my way back to bed."

"Don't apologize. We were just worried about you."

Neal nodded. "No need. I'm fine." He didn't like the idea that Peter and El were worried about him. He should have known that El would try to get in touch and would tell Peter when he wasn't in class, but this cold had turned his brain to mush and he hadn't thought to send a text to forestall their questions and their worry. It had been far too long since he needed to consider the feelings of anyone other than June and Mozzie, but that was no excuse for giving Peter and El cause for concern.

Peter rolled his eyes, thankful that Neal couldn't see his reaction to his obviously ridiculous statement. "I'm going to find your phone and put on the nightstand. Okay?"

Neal nodded and then began coughing again. Peter waited, his hand still resting on Neal's knee until the fit subsided before going in search of the missing device.

He found it on the kitchen counter next to a warm bottle of water that Neal had probably also meant to bring back to the bed with him. Peter swapped it out for a cold one from the refrigerator, found a bottle of ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom and then took all three items back to Neal.

"Hey, can you sit up for a minute?" He asked as he retook his seat on the bed.

"Why?"

"You should drink some water, and I've got some ibuprofen too."

Neal sighed, but shifted so he was sitting up against the headboard. Peter took Neal's hand gently and set the pills in his palm. Neal tossed them back and then held out his hand for the bottle of water.

He drank half of it in one gulp before Peter gently pulled on his arm. "Hey, slow down. There's more where that came from."

Neal complied and finished the rest of the bottle at a more reasonable pace while Peter rubbed his hand up and down Neal's blanket-covered leg. As he sat watching him, Peter couldn't help but think of a slightly younger Neal, lying in a hospital bed, newly blind and recovering from a gunshot wound, who Peter hadn't been around to help. His chest tightened. There were too many things he wished he could change.

"Stop it," Neal said, his voice rough despite the water he had just consumed.

"Stop what?" Peter asked, reflexively stilling his hand on Neal's leg.

"Not that," Neal answered giving his knee a small shake. "Whatever you were thinking."

"How do you know I was thinking anything?" Peter replied as he resumed running his hand along Neal's leg.

"I can hear you worrying all the way over here. I’m fine. It's just a nasty cold."

''Right, just a cold."

Neal rubbed a hand through his greying beard. "I'm sorry. I should have called, or at least answered when you called me. This is all still pretty new, and I didn't think."

"Hey, none of that. If I'm not allowed to feel guilty, you're not allowed to feel guilty, deal?"

Neal smiled and slid back down into the bed. "Deal."

"Do you want me to go, so you can get some rest?"

Neal didn’t even need to consider his reply. He didn’t want to be alone in his misery. June had been up to check on him, but that wasn’t the same as having Peter around. "No, can't really sleep, too achy."

"Can I do anything to help?"

When Neal answered, his voice sounded hesitant. "Will you read to me?"

Peter found his chest tightening again at the thought of yet another thing that had been such an immense part of Neal's life that he could no longer enjoy. "Sure. Anything in particular?"

Neal shook his head. "No, whatever seems interesting to you."

Peter patted his leg, rose and walked over to the bookshelves behind Neal's sofa. There was a lot to choose from, poetry, histories, books on conspiracy theories obviously left behind by Mozzie, even a couple of romance novels. Finally, his eyes settled on something Peter though Neal might like.

Neal had curled back up on his side and Peter settled back in next to his knees, before opening the book and beginning to read.

"Chapter one, The Arrival, October 23, 1888. While it was still dark, shortly after five o'clock in the morning, a train clanked into the station at Arles and a solitary, exhausted passenger got out."

"Van Gogh and Gauguin," Neal murmured with a smile.

Peter smiled too and then continued to read the tale of the time that Van Gogh and Gauguin spent together in the sleepy French hamlet of Arles as Neal listened and settled further into his pillows.

Halfway through that first chapter, Neal was fast asleep. Peter used one of his business cards to mark the page and put the book down on the nightstand next to Neal’s cellphone. He needed to go to the office for a while, but he would be back this evening, to check in on Neal and continue to read him the story of the painters in 1888. He couldn’t go back in time and be there for Neal when he had first lost his sight, but he would be here for him now.

 

Endnote: The book Peter reads to Neal is titled The Yellow House: Van Gogh, Gauguin, and Nine Turbulent Weeks in Arles, by Martin Gayford.  



End file.
